


fold this part, unfold this part (hold this heart)

by fruitwhirl



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, High School, basically a secret relationship au that disregards a bit of canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitwhirl/pseuds/fruitwhirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maya and Lucas are friends, and then they're something more. But when that something more isn't enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	fold this part, unfold this part (hold this heart)

**Author's Note:**

> this kind of came from the theory that gmw is all (mostly) from riley's pov, so what hasn't she seen? mind, this was written before gmye came out, at least most of it. so... yeah.   
> title from "boardwalks" by little may.

They’re thirteen and fourteen and alone for the first time, away from the other two of their group—away from the little genius and the literal ball of sunshine. A project that Mr. Matthews has assigned them that truly has nothing to do with the past: starting a muffin business. (However, if Lucas has picked up on anything this year, it is that everything their history teacher assigns them has a reason, and since he does well on the tests he figures he should go with it.)

She groans and complains, but Maya finds her way to his apartment afterschool just as she had promised. Dressed in a torn leather jacket and combat boots, she definitely isn’t what his mother had pictured when he had texted her to let her know a friend from school was coming over to work on an assignment ( _mom: I’m so glad you’re making friends here!!!!!! just let me know if you need anything???)_ , if her wide eyes and forced, polite smile is any indication.

Nonetheless, she ushers the girl in, lets him know that there are snacks in the pantry and that she is welcome to anything she’d like. This garners a small—mischievous?—grin as his mother goes back into her bedroom to do whatever mothers do on Wednesdays.

Maya peers around the kitchen, full of knick-knacks and other various items, as Lucas sets up a few different recipe books on the table as well as his laptop. She hones in on one of the small wall décors has the painted words _“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord_ — _Joshua 24:15”_ and she scrunches her nose.

“You guys really are the epitome of the perfect southern family, aren’t ya?”

It’s a little mocking in tone, but he still nods (even if it’s not entirely true). When they moved, they actually had to leave a lot of the crosses and signs they had back in Austin, since their New York apartment is definitely not the same size as the ranch house. But she doesn’t need to know that.

He instead gestures to the various recipes he’s got picked out, and she’s sighing and sitting down, saying something about how she doesn’t know how they’re going to make muffins when his mother slides in and he groans.

“We could have wholesome—”

And from there, he knows they’re doomed to fail.

.

Lucas knows this feeling.

He’s familiar with his friends back home being made fun of, he’s familiar with having to console them, he’s even more familiar with tracking the asshole who’s bothering them down and knocking some sense into them.

So he recognizes the glare in the small blonde’s eyes as she stalks down the hallway, searching for their friend. While they haven’t been explicitly told that Farkle’s being bullied, they both know. He’s trying not to get too angry about this.

“I’m going to kill whoever’s doing this to him,” Maya promises.

Lucas adds, “ _After_ we find Farkle.”

 It’s reluctant, but she agrees. “After we find Farkle.”

(When they do find him, Lucas has to physically pick her up to keep her from hurting the bully—even if none of them knows who it is, because Farkle isn’t fessing up. And similarly, later in the gym when Billy admits to being the prick they all knew he was, the blonde jumps on his back, wraps her legs around her waist while he holds them in support, in order to do the same for him. They both have quick tempers.)

.

His mother and father are fighting again, so he slips out of the apartment into the night. He used to do this back in Austin, but instead of the quiet woods in his backyard being his refuge it’s the still bustling streets of Manhattan.

He doesn’t really know where he’s going, but he figures he’ll find out soon enough. And then he’s in the West Village (he thinks, anyway, the whole layout of the city is still very, very confusing for him).

The area’s a little calmer, and if it wasn’t so dark he probably would’ve stopped at the park a few block back, but he’s heard stories of muggings (his pace picks up a bit with that). Being alone and getting attacked is definitely not on his bucket-list.

The idea of turning back around and just waiting outside his home until the yelling stops is tempting, because all that’s in his pocket is a few bucks and his cell-phone. But then he sees something among the various lit buildings that line the street—a slightly dimmer, white neon sign that read _Nighthawks Diner_ and there’s something that draws him to it and into the old swinging door.

Familiar in some sort of way, it reminds him of a vintage fifties diner, and it makes him smile. Since it is, like, eleven, only a few people remain in the vinyl seats: a graying biker eating waffles; a middle-aged couple who seem tired and only half-heartedly arguing over their shared plate; at the coffee bar, a girl with blond hair pulled up into some sort of sleepy hairstyle.

Moving to the bar, he sits on one of the stools, trying to catch a brightly-clothed waitress’s attention—when he grabs one of the outdated, laminated menus, there’s a short stack available for only two dollars, and he’d like to give a decent tip since it’s so late.  While he waits for the waitress— _Pat,_ it says on her name tag—to finish refilling the biker’s coffee, he peers at the girl a few red stools over from him. She’s got a sketchbook open and a pencil gliding across the page, as well as a half-eaten platter of what looks to be tuna-melt next her, but she’s angled away from him, so he’s not really able to see her face.

He decides to start a conversation while he waits. “What are you drawing?”

For a slight second she jumps (he might have imagined it), but recovers quickly as she turns. And it’s Maya, of course.

“Your pretty face, Huckleberry,” she quips, smiling cheekily. And before she closes her sketchbook, Lucas is able to catch a glimpse of a landscape or plant, he’s not sure. “So what’s a cowboy like you doing out so late?”

He considers actually telling her—he _so_ needs to talk to about this someone right now; he misses his friends and calling and skyping and texting just isn’t doing it. But then he decides against it—too much on the line. “Just needed to get out the house is all.”

“And come all the way to West Village?”

Lucas shrugs. “I needed a walk, clear my head.” Then he feels uncomfortable, like if he keeps talking about himself, he’ll tell her everything that’s going on, he knows she’d understand (probably). So he orders his food and then continues. “Why are _you_ here?”

Gesturing to behind the counter, she points out her mom and says something about waiting for her shift to end and getting locked out of their home. But then she narrows her eyes at him, quirks an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He nods. And then proceeds to give her a brief overview of the night, of how his parents haven’t been the same since they left Texas, and of how he’s pretty sure they moved because his dad was cheating and they wanted to “start over” (even though they told him that he had gotten transferred). When he finishes (he used to be an over-sharer when he was younger, but he thought he was out of that phase), Maya just looks at him with soft eyes and a sad smile.

She tells him that she doesn’t completely understand how he feels, as no one can exactly match another’s feelings, but that she knows how hard it can be. She says a little thing about her family and about how her dad left them and that his dad at least seems to be trying to keep the family together— _trying_ —that he’s not alone in his struggles.

Then she pats his shoulder as Katy comes around the counter and tells her that she’s off now, and before they leave, she calls him Ranger Rick and Lucas decides that Maya Hart is a hell of a lot smarter than people give her credit for.

.

They’re at the library, researching a project for history—Mr. Matthews was once again stern about the book-only sources—and while they aren’t _technically_ assigned partners, Farkle decided to go solo on this one and Riley’s home sick for the first time with the flu.

 (Later, Lucas will think that this is the point where they started to be unofficial official partners.)

“Alexander Hamilton was such a priss,” Maya comments, as her eyes scour a page. At his nonplussed expression, she expands. “He lost a duel in the 1800s. Who _does_ that?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “This project isn’t even about the Western Hemisphere; we’re talking about the Huns.”

“That doesn’t mean that he wasn’t still a priss.”

.

He’s fourteen almost fifteen and in the past year and a half he has almost completely turned himself around and instead of the rebel-punch-punch he was back in Texas, Lucas now projects an image of Mr. Perfect and Ranger Rick and Moral Compass and he doesn’t mind it one bit.

Except sometimes he does.

Like a few minutes before, when he could _just_ picture Maya and the rest of the class with “Lucas the Good” shirts on (Farkle’s uncle runs a t-shirt business), he has to act fast. Yeah, while being a nice guy is cool and all, he kind of misses the rush he’d get when his fist collided with something, when he got so mad, when there wasn’t a little snappy blonde to hold him back.

(So, he gets detention along with the rest of them.)

And then he picks Mayaville over Rileytown—a choice that truly isn’t much of a choice, at least with his given feelings. With the whole school to reign, he’s got a taste of that freedom and release he had so long ago and he’s not going back, at least not yet.

(So, he ends up in the art room with Maya and her followers, until all of her followers have left and it’s just him and Maya and the paints.)

She gestures to the various colors—reds and blues and yellows and a whole array of secondary pigments—then to her face, and says, “Would you mind?”

He furrows his eyebrows, until he realizes that she’s referring to the warrior patterns she’d drawn on the other Mayaville residents. Dipping his pointer finger first into the cerulean (as directed), he wipes it straight across her forehead, two orange bits underneath. Then a royal blue streak down her nose, another two along her cheeks, accented by dandelion dots (and a hitch in her breath? he can’t tell). Finally, he uses his thumb to carefully glide thin white from her nose to her chin, and his fingers involuntarily pause when they reach her pink lips, just long enough for him to acknowledge that he’s gingerly holding the rest of her face with his other hand.

She’s looking up at him with wide eyes and an almost vulnerable expression, which isn’t Maya Hart at all, so Lucas finishes the last bit of the paint before she pushes away from him and reaches down. In her hands is a long strip of dirty, art-stained cloth, and she wraps this around his forehead. Then she smiles real big and says “perfect”.

(So, he recognizes that he _really_ wants to be his old self and when she calls him a huckleberry later, he tries to correct her—asking her to call him “Mad Dog” instead—and she basically dubs him a gentle little lamb.)

.

Lucas loves Riley, he truly does (whether it be as a friend or brother or whatever she’s deciding), but if there’s one thing that he would consider to be a flaw of hers is that she’s a pusher.

Sometimes it’s a good thing, like when she believes that all of them can amount to anything they so desire but they just need a push, or when she sees an injustice and has to fix it (she’s a fixer too, but that’s a whole nother can of worms).

So he knows it’s not going to be good when Maya says she doesn’t believe in God and Riley immediately tries to get her to come to church and pray with her.

“No” is all the blonde responds with and that is _that_ (even if it isn’t, on Riley’s part).

And then she stalks off to the Matthews’ kitchen table where their books are strewn about and Lucas follows. They end up reading about John Adams and Thomas Jefferson and Aaron Burr (“See! I told you Hamilton was a priss!”), and it’s quiet until Maya speaks again. 

“Lucas, what is it that makes people like her and you have faith in a higher power?”

She explains that she doesn’t like to be pushed—he chuckles, replies that he knows, and that no one can push her into something like this.

Full of raw honesty and a sort of loss, her eyes betray her true emotions: she wants to believe, but she doesn’t know how to. His heart hurts a little. Desperately she wants to believe, and he tells her the best that he can, that it’s not overt and that she needs to find quiet.

“I don’t get a lot of quiet.”

(His heart _breaks_.)

.

She doesn’t mention anything about the class dubbing them “Best Couple”, so neither does he.

(That doesn’t mean he wants her to be someone else; she’s quick tempered and ridiculous and self-blaming and loyal and protective and he doesn’t want her to change at all.)

.

The Friars have a predicament.

He and his mom and his dad had bought tickets to _Hamilton_ on Broadway, but it’s an hour before they’re supposed to leave and the Friar patriarch has vanished, and even though she’s trying so hard not to let him know, both Lucas and her know that her husband isn’t going to come back, at least not before the theatre doors close.

It’s fine. They can go without him (like they do with everything).

But the problem arose when she remembered how much the tickets had cost (they’ll be out a couple hundred bucks that they don’t have lying around) and she’s about to start crying.

Lucas rubs her back and she says something about how she just doesn’t want it to go to waste.

“You, _hic,_ could bringa fri— _hic_ —end,” she tries.

He verbally runs through a list of where everyone is: Zay is visiting family back in Texas; Riley is in Philadelphia with the rest of the Matthews clan; and while Farkle would _love_ Broadway, he’s supposed to be at some Genius weekend at Harvard or something; and—

“What about that nice girl you brought home, Maya, wasn’t it? With the muffins?”

Confused, he frowns. “I thought you didn’t like her?”

“I, _sniff,_ never said that.” Then she adds, “With the way you and Zay talk about her, she has to be wonderful. Ask her.”

“But—”

“Ask her.”

**huckleberry:** _Hey, are you doing anything tonight?_

**mockingbird:** _why, need a hot date?_

**huckleberry:** _My momma’s gonna be there_

**mockingbird:** _still_

**huckleberry:** _Look, I’ll explain more if you come, but my_

_Dad basically just bailed on us, and we have an extra_

_ticket to a musical._

**mockingbird:** _…which one_

**huckleberry:** _Hamilton._

**mockingbird:** _i get to see the priss sing? on my way_

True to her word, thirty minutes later, when their little cuckoo clock sings that it’s eight fifteen, the doorbell rings, and standing in the hallway is Maya, her blond hair curling past her shoulders. She’s wearing that flowy red dress she wore during the Board of Education meeting last week, and there’s such a big smile on her face he feels one forming on his as well.

He’s about to say something—what, he’s not entirely sure of—but then his mother appears in the doorway next to him, and starts going on about how _darling_ she looks and how _mature_ and _grown up_ she is, and would she like something to eat before they left?

Maya just curves her lips up politely, and says that she had a huge meal right before she came but that she appreciates the offer. Then the elder Friar hugs her and begins to ask a multitude of questions the younger girl doesn’t honestly respond—even if Lucas knows the truth—as they leave the apartment: _you didn’t come all the way here by yourself, did you?_ (She did); _does your momma know you’re here?_ (She probably doesn’t); _how is school going?_ (He doesn’t actually know the answer to this, but he hopes it’s all going as well as it is for him.)

They end up on the subway—something Lucas has grown fond of, though his mother, decidedly, hasn’t. But Maya is at home in this little busy dirty place. All gussied up, she sharply contrasts the punk guys playing drums and dancing around the crowded space. But she’s relaxed, conversing with one of the boys (who looks like he’s in high school) about, well, Lucas doesn’t even know.

His mom nudges him then, as a reminder that the train is boarding now and that they need to hurry. After similarly trying to catch Maya’s attention, he ends up grabbing her hand to pull her into the car. Their fingers don’t intertwine, but he kind of wishes that they did.

And then the three of them are on their way.

(Maybe he stands a little closer to her than he should, but who’ll notice?)

.

It’s movie night at the Matthews’ residence, which Riley also dubs as “Super Fun Friends Sleepover (the Last Word Only Applicable to Maya)”, in that phrasing exactly. Both of her parents out on a date night and Auggie exploring the city alongside Josh; Zay and Riley and Maya and Farkle and Lucas have the apartment to themselves and they raid the fridge and cupboards appropriately.

 They also build a _huge_ pillow fort.

Like seriously, Lucas doesn’t know where they got all of the pillows and blankets—maybe her brother’s room?—but it’s a pretty classy deal, with huge makeshift bed. And then Zay makes _four bags of popcorn_ which they dump into two big bowls and distribute among those who want to sit on the couch, and those who want to burrow into the bedding.

And then Riley pops in some old movie that almost all of them have seen before (except Farkle, but that won’t stop him from knowing what’s going to happen and proceeding to tell _everyone_ ).

Maya and Lucas are the only ones who claimed the sofa, and since the blonde’s the one holding the snacks, he sort of gravitates towards her side of the furniture until their lower halves are almost touching—and then she crosses her legs in a sitting position and her knee is resting on his thigh. He can totally handle this.

The film starts, and really, the only one paying attention is the little genius boy and everyone else is sort of just talking quietly (so as to not disturb their little, irritable genius boy). When the movie’s halfway through, and their popcorn is almost completely gone and conversation has lulled and Riley is in the bathroom, Maya looks up at the boy sitting next to her.

“Thank you.” At his quizzical expression, she elaborates. “For inviting me to the play. I don’t get to do stuff like that very often.”

His eyebrows furrowed, he says, “Thank _you._ My dad ended up being gone for a few days, and I don’t think my mom could have handled that night if it was me and her.” He wouldn’t have been able to handle it, either.

Maya nods, and something small and sad laces her smile. “I know the feeling. When my dad left—” Her voice hitches, barely perceptible, and maybe he shifts his hand so that his fingers lightly cover hers in comfort. “—I was just a little kid, I didn’t know what was going on. There’s always going to be that nagging feeling of _he left because of me_ or because of my mom or because of both of us and just _why,_ ya know?”

Lucas doesn’t notice it (and neither does she, apparently), but he’s stroking her thumb softly and it’s calming him and her as he asks if she’s ever tried to contact her father? And she just shakes her head, and says something about how she’d ask him why but that she isn’t sure if she wants to know the answer.

Her words are so despondent he wants to wrap her up in blankets and protect her forever. He starts to speak again, maybe offer words of advice, but then Farkle turns around and very loudly shushes them.

 

And a few days later, when the rest of the group decides that he’d be the best to contain her, to calm her down if things go awry, he goes with it (really, he agrees). Her face gets filled with almost expired ice cream, and he hurts, somewhere deep inside of him, when she doesn’t get angry, when she just looks so incredibly sad.

He doesn’t even realize that the girl he’s supposed to like has run out of the bakery until Farkle mentions it.

.

“Riley isn’t a cheerleader, Maya.”

“Yes, I know.”

“She’s going to get hurt and embarrassed.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You need to convince her to not try out.”

“Yes, I know.”

.

It’s close to midnight and Lucas is getting eaten up by pests and while flannels are a permanent staple of his wardrobe, it’s like Satan’s armpit out here and _goddamn_ he really should have brought some bug spray. It doesn’t help that he’s alone with Maya and she’s like, four feet away from him and won’t say anything (after Riley basically outted her crush on him? He isn’t sure what to believe). He keeps trying to catch her eyes, to get her to talk to him, to get her to _just talk to him,_ and she continually shoots him down until he can’t take it.

She says that she doesn’t like him and that he’s a Huckleberry and a Ranger Rick and a Sundance and that she doesn’t have anything else to add but “ha-hurr” and then she’s up in his face and he can’t help it.

His hands cup her cheeks, his fingers weave themselves into her hair, he leans in and then he’s pressing his lips to hers and just kissing her, and just for a moment, everything is perfect.

And while it’s agonizing, she pulls away after a few beats, and in a voice so soft it makes his heart hurt, she asks, “Why did you do that?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

(and then she tells him that she likes him and everything is complicated)

.

When he gets home from their—date?—his mom asks him why he’s covered in purple and pink smoothies. He shrugs and says “Maya” and yeah, his mom looks alarmed, but she’s also grinning a weird little grin like she knows something.

And then he’s back at _Topanga’s_ and is trying to get the point across to Riley that he _doesn’t_ want to be her brother when Maya walks back in, and he moves to sit next to her as quickly as he can.

.

He’s more than thankful for the fact that their classmates stay out of his and the blonde’s _thing,_ because they don’t start seriously dating. They aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, with neither of them sure if they’re completely ready for an actual relationship (they’re only fifteen, for god’s sake).

It doesn’t keep him from trying to get Maya to maybe write to her father for their project. It doesn’t keep him from rubbing her shoulder in support when she reads her letter. It doesn’t keep him from kissing her forehead in hello every day, it doesn’t keep him from being her lab partner and it doesn’t keep him from lifting up her chin when she falls asleep on his shoulder during science class.

It doesn’t keep him from liking her just as much as he always has.

.

“It’s ridiculous how obvious you are, man.”

“Yes, I know.”

.

It’s New Years, and while he normally flies back to Texas for the holidays, his mother and father are in a “tiff”: after Christmas breakfast, the former fled to his grandmother’s home in Dallas, so he’s stuck with his dad.

So now he’s trying to avoid his only parent in the apartment, holed up in his room doing his homework. A problem concerning sine, cosine and tangent (?) currently puzzles him. He’s biting on the end of his eraser at ten o’clock when there’s a _creeeaaaak_ and a rush of cold air. For just a moment, he thinks that that cliché of getting robbed while in New York is coming true, and he’s about to actually call for his dad when there’s suddenly an icy palm covering his mouth.

“Shut up, Huckleberry, or else someone’s gonna hear you!”

He breathes a sigh of relief because it’s Maya, not some random burglar, dressed up in a pretty turquoise coat and boots, her nose and cheeks adorably tinged red from the snow, a bit of the white powder in her hair.

“Why did you break into my apartment?” Lucas asks, more confused than anything when he realizes that she’s standing there, dripping wet onto the carpet.

She explains that there isn’t much time, and to grab his snow gear (“If you even have that, Cowboy”) and to get his butt down the fire-escape before she pushes him out. He decides not to think much of it; most people don’t think so, but Maya typically has a reason for everything she does, even if that reason is just to have fun.

So, he climbs out after her and they scurry down the rickety metal ladder. His apartment is only on the third floor, but with the ice making the metal practically frictionless, their trek slow and rather perilous. There’s a brief moment where her foot slips, and his heart stops, just for a moment. But then she catches herself on the railing; he reaches out to grab her hand to pull her to a standing position. He grips her arm, just to steady her (or himself, he doesn’t know). They take a few seconds, remaining still and close in proximity, and then she’s off again.

They’re all the way down in the alley in about five minutes, and then, clutching his hand, she leads him through the frost-bitten night, weaving between the celebrating crowds. Because she nudges him into taking a round-about way around the Manhattan streets, they just narrowly miss having to push into the people surrounding Times Square (which would have probably taken four times as long).

 She doesn’t let go of his hand.

 

Even when they arrive at what he assumes to be their destination— _Topanga’s_ —she’s gripping his fingers like it’s a lifeline. Lucas tells himself that she’s just cold, that she just doesn’t want him to get lost. She jiggles the lock for a little while before it opens, and keys jingling, she pulls him inside with haste, where a rush of warm air meets him. He’s grateful for the sudden heat, but confused as to why she brought him here, also asks what they’re doing at the bakery.

“You’re going to help me bring up some ice cream and decorations.”

“You dragged me all the way out here to carry party supplies?”

She sighs as they move to the stockroom to grab the streamers and other embellishments. “Look, I figured you weren’t going to be having a great time with your dad—I used to be alone for New Years. And the Matthews are having a little get-together, and I just wanted you to have a great time.”

She’s so earnest about it all, a slight tremor in her voice that no one else (except maybe Riley) would detect. But instead of continuing, instead of him saying something deep, she points at large cardboard box and orders him to follow her with a “Let’s go, Quick-draw”. He smiles at the near archaic nickname.

When they get to the elevator, she presses the button; it takes Lucas a minute to realize that the number that lights up does not correlate with the Matthew’s floor, but is the one at the very top of the column. He opens his mouth to speak, but she just holds up a hand to quiet him.

It isn’t until they’re walking up a brief flight of stairs and they get to a door that says _ROOF_ that she explains that Riley had never been able to stay awake until midnight—“So she’s never seen a New York New Years?”—and that this year she’d finally do it, Maya’s adamant.

“We’re going to lure her up to the roof, and—” she pushes the door open with her hip, he follows her outside as it closes with a click “—she’ll be forced to stay awake, it’s so damn cold.”

He adds, “And she’ll get to see the Ball Drop.”

Maya beams. “That too” and then, “have you ever seen it before?”

He shakes his head, says something about how he’s only seen it on the television once when he was a kid.  “You?”

“Never had anyone to see it with.” And then she quietly says that they should go get Riley now—it’s only a half hour to twelve, and it would take around twenty minutes to get to her apartment, convince her to come with them and then get all the way back here in time.

However, after they put down their boxes and she moves to open the rooftop door again, it doesn’t move. So she jiggles it, and when that doesn’t work, she kicks it. When that doesn’t work, he suggests that they try to ram it open—the flaw in that, she points out, being the fact that the door swings outward, so it would have no use.

“I forgot it automatically locks from ten to one,” she says. “But it’s fine, I can just call her mom to bring her up here.”

And then she rummages around in her coat pockets, until it becomes so frantic he has to put his hands on her shoulders to stop her. “I think I left my phone on the counter of the shop, please tell me you’ve got yours?”

The answer, unfortunately, is no. He hadn’t thought to grab it before he’d ducked out of the window (this makes him wonder: has his father noticed his absence? Answer: doubtful). She collapses into a pouty heap on the ground, and he sits down next to her.

He rubs her back, reassures her that they’ll get out soon enough, that either someone will come looking for them or they can just wait for the doors to open at one. It’d be little more than an hour at most.

“That’s not the point! Riley was supposed to finally get to see the Ball Drop, and I was supposed to help her do that.”

.

With probably a minute or so to midnight (from what they can tell from the crowd below), the pair is quiet. Maya’s got her head in the crook of his neck, and he’s trying to keep the both of them warm.

When there’s the chant of _ten nine eight seven six five four three two_ and _one,_ Lucas leans down, presses his lips to her forehead for a few beats. She thanks him, and he doesn’t even know what she’s thanking him for.

.

“Lucas, have I ever said anything nice to you?

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m glad to be here with you.”

_That makes up for everything._

.

They’re saved twenty minutes later by an older, blatantly intoxicated couple who decided to use the rooftop for what, Maya and Lucas don’t know.

.

It’s graduation (from middle school), and they’re sitting on those little red plastic chairs that made indents on your butt. Maya’s sitting next to him, since Jess Green is out sick and he’s the only one who’s ever between “Friar” and “Hart” in the roll sheet—Lucas doesn’t mind how small the school is now.

Their knees are pressed up against one other as they listen to Farkle’s rather _ingenious_ speech—he’s grown a lot since Lucas had first met the kid; instead of dictatorship and his brilliance being the subject, it’s about friendship and growing up and changes.

“We’re changing so much—some of us might not even be friends by the end of the summer. And that’s okay. It’s scary, but it’s okay.”

He’s right about the changes.

.

That summer, the summer before freshman year, Lucas grows another three inches. Maya, however, only seems to get smaller. (It doesn’t help that everyone else in their group got taller too—Farkle and Zay only have a couple inches on Riley, who shot up like a tree.)

This is around the time that she takes to wearing heels every day, so as to minimize their height difference. Her favorite pair of wedges, in fact, get her up to his shoulder (well, almost).

But when they end up going to the lake with the Matthews for a week, she’s restricted to sneakers and flip-flops. And it’s just so funny how short she is. He can’t help it; he affectionately calls her short-stack one night when they’re walking back to the cabin and he swears she’s about to kill him.

.

The second month of freshman year, her mom’s out of town again, and he’s over at her apartment (her grandmother is incredibly sick, so she’s at another family member’s outside of the city, leaving Maya completely alone).

He’s on her bed—not in a gross way, he swears—writing an essay for his honors English class about _Catcher in the Rye_. She’s on the opposite side of the mattress, her back pressed up against the wooden headboard. A guitar lies across her lap, and she strums it absentmindedly.

Halfway through his second body paragraph, she starts singing, something soft and sweet. While it sounds eerily familiar, he can’t pinpoint its source. He remembers when she sang at the board meeting, when they “interrupted” her and when he had wished she’d just kept on going.

_how long must you wait for it, how long must you pay for it_

It’s a little slower, quieter than the original version, but Lucas still feels a small smile forming on his lips. She ends up trailing off after the next verse, mumbling under her breath, then switches to a tune that he’s never heard before, something she seems to be making up as she goes along.

He watches her, like this, for the rest of the night.

(He ends up sleeping in her bed, too, but it’s not like that; he’d texted his mom earlier to tell her that he’d be at Zay’s for the night—his friend would always cover for him, and right now, he didn’t feel comfortable leaving the blonde by herself.)

 

When he wakes up in the morning, it’s not to his alarm, but instead to someone shaking him awake. The room is still dark due to her blackout curtains, and he’s still at the foot of her bed, where he’d passed out last night, with a red blanket thrown over his body.

Maya’s already dressed in a striped t-shirt dress and knee-high boots (which, from what he can see, give her at least an extra three inches of height). “Come on Ranger Rick, we’ve gotta get moving.”

They end up running by his apartment, and she waits in the kitchen searching for breakfast while he grabs a new shirt—a dark gray, today—and brushes his teeth. He keeps his rumpled jeans on, and she splits her strawberry poptart with him as they bolt out the door and to school.

(This ends up becoming a habit; anytime she’s alone for the night, he crashes at her place. It gets to the point where she keeps one of his flannels in her dresser and an extra toothbrush on hand so they don’t have to go by his apartment on their way to John Adams.)

.

“Your mom called me last night.” Zay says this as he spoons a yogurt-covered raspberry into his mouth. The girls are in Mr. Matthew’s classroom, finishing their essays from last period. Farkle’s still in the lunch line.

Lucas raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“She said you weren’t picking up, and so she asked if we needed anything, because she’d heard that my parents were out of town,” he says it slowly then smirks. “But you weren’t over last night.”

“Man—”

“—I know, I know. I didn’t tell her you were at Maya’s—”

“Dude—”

“—as long as you’re being safe, man—”

“We’re not having sex—”

“—of course you’re not.”

“We’re _sixteen._ ”

.

Lucas doesn’t really know how he got here.

Okay, well, that’s a lie. He knows.

He meets up with her every day after he finishes basketball practice (unless she’s sick), finding his way to the almost-empty art room as the sun sets. Lately, she’s been working on a single piece, a larger canvas than what she normally uses; but she won’t let him see it.

He sits at one of the tables, pulls out some of his homework and waits for her to finish (or, at least finish the part she’s on, and put up her supplies).

He waits.

And waits.

And _waits._

It gets to the point where it’s completely dark outside, and he’s done with his algebra homework, and she still isn’t done. Even the halls are void of other students, it’s that late. His mother’s going to start worrying about the both of them if they don’t hurry up.

“My momma said she’s fixin’ supper now.”

Maya hums, twirling her paintbrush absentmindedly.

“She’s making chili.”

She hums again.

“And your favorite sweet potato fries.”

Once again, humming.

“We need to get home soon.”

“Home?”

She looks up at him now, her eyes soft and full of something that reminds him of another time when they were alone in another art room, a year ago. The black sleeves of her peasant top are flecked with bright blue and carnation pink, and her wedges are thrown across the room (she hates _painting_ with anything on her feet).

He’s about to just brush off the implication the word has, but then he remembers his resolution that he’d made with her, on that rooftop almost a year ago. “Yeah, we consider you part of the family.” Even his dad, who doesn’t like anyone, likes her (which doesn’t necessarily mean that she likes him—half the time, Lucas doesn’t even like him).

And then, in that split second, something crashes into his chest. He’s confused until he feels arms wrapping themselves around his neck, and that’s when his own encircle her waist. With her shoes off, she’s a hell of a lot shorter than him, and so it ends up that her feet are lifted up off the ground.

And then, he’s leaning down and she’s peering up at him and then their lips are pressed together. Honestly, it’s a little awkward at first: he has to readjust his hands so that he has a better grip, her legs around his waist until he just places her on one of the tables, and they’re fumbling around, teeth knocking together and he accidentally bites her lip a little too hard. He’s never actually made out with anyone before.

“It’s a fifteen minute walk to your house, and we also have to swing by the bakery to let my mom know I’m going to be back late,” she murmurs against his lips. “And I gotta clean up.”

“We’ve got enough time.”

 

(they don’t, and the chili gets cold)

.

“No, Zay, we’re still not sleeping together.”

“Are you sure—”

“Dead sure.”

.

 It’s Valentines’ Day, and honestly, neither of them make a big deal about it.

When he picks her up (yes, he’s one of the only kids at his school who drives, and he drives a small blue pick-up truck—she makes fun of him endlessly for it), and they stop at a McDonalds to have an ever so romantic breakfast, consisting of hot-cakes and an egg-cheese-sausage biscuit.

He makes a comment about how much he misses his honey butter chicken biscuits, and when she laughs about the “poor country boy” he just whines further. It gets to the point where he’s leaning against her shoulder, obnoxiously chewing with his mouth wide open.

And then her phone starts buzzing, and up pops a picture of a smiling Riley with the contact name _pumpkin_ and when she picks it up to answer, and there’s a little bit of guilt somewhere in his throat. They haven’t told anybody about their new… arrangement? Hell, he doesn’t even know what they are.

He looks back to Maya, who’s got her phone pressed to her ear, nodding and calmly reassuring the girl on the other end of something. “We’ll be there soon, maybe ten minutes?” then “Yes, Lucas is with me. No, we’re not actually together, but we’re together right now. Never mind. It’s all going to be okay.”

Then she hangs up, stuffs it in her pocket and turns to him. “The rest of the cheer team bailed on bringing the signs for the Valentine’s dance, and she needs help selling tickets before school. Zay’s gonna be there.”

“Then I guess we’re on our way.”

(While traffic is ridiculous at this time, he definitely prefers waiting in the heat of his warm truck to being pelted by snow and ice, and inevitably showing up to school cold and soaked and with a frozen Maya Hart next to him [she wore a nicer, more conservative outfit—which, to her, is wearing a sweater and a skirt that goes past her mid-thigh—and she swore that if it got even a little wet she was going to kill him].)

Also, when they finally do get to the school, Riley’s so frazzled she doesn’t realized that they arrived together, and Zay only makes one smart comment about how they’re both the only people without red noses and scarlet cheeks. Maya pokes her tongue out at him as they get to work.

.

It’s end of the year, and they’ve become _that_ couple. _That_ couple that’s making out the second they get a moment of privacy ( _that_ freshman couple).

But that’s the thing. They’re private.

They haven’t told anyone, and they don’t participate in (what they consider) public displays of affection. That doesn’t mean no one’s caught on—Lucas swears that their English teacher purposefully partners them together for projects, and people constantly try to get them together. Like this one boy—who Maya is certain doesn’t actually like her—asked her out right in front of him (she said no, but the boy didn’t seem too disappointed). The same thing happened with Lucas; except for it was a girl from his biology class.

Honestly, they just want to keep their whole _thing_ between them—nothing like what happened with Riley and him at the beginning of eighth grade. That crushed the possibility of anything else happening with her.

“You know,” Maya says against his lips. “I think our fifth period would have a field day if they walked in on this.”

This, of course, referring to their current situation: in the empty history classroom (yes, they checked—Mr. Matthews is at home sick with the flu, and his substitute is out for lunch), Lucas sits on one of the desks, with the blonde on his lap, straddling him while they, well, go at it.

The thought of any of their classmates seeing this makes him chuckle, as he moves to pepper kisses along the side of her neck. Then he asks: “Who do you think would freak out the most?”

“Yindra’s been up our ass a bit more lately,” she muses.

“I don’t know, ever since he and Darby went on their ‘break’, Yogi’s asked a bit about us.”

“Farkle would probably just think that we’re fighting.”

“I don’t even wanna think about Riley.”

“Zay would—”

And then a third voice: “Hey Mr. Matthews, about this assignment— _what the shit_?”

Of course it’s Zay; out of every one in their friend group, in their class, it’s the school gossip (whom they all love, but honestly, once he knows something, half of the grade knows within the next hour) who finds them.

Maya curses.

.

“Please don’t tell anyone, man.”

“You lied to me.”

“I know, we didn’t mean to keep it a secret—”

“Ya’ll _are_ sleeping together!”

“No, no we aren—”

“You nasty! And in Mr. Matthew’s classroom? That’s _Riley’s father’s_ work space.”

“It wasn’t like th—hey, stop throwing those—why the hell do you have so many condoms?”

.

For the first half the summer, Lucas visits family in Austin. He considered inviting her, but he didn’t know how he’d take it if she declined the offer. So instead, she kisses him after their group’s little send-off party—Farkle: “It was nice knowing you, cowboy” and Riley: “Make sure that Pappy Joe takes care of you” and Maya: “Don’t let no southern lass take you away from us” (he laughs at that last part).

Zay comes along with him (Riley gives him an _I’m from NYC_ button).

Maya and Riley stay home, working in the bakery (the former more so than the latter).

When he gets back, he heads to _Topanga’s,_ because he knows that the blonde is working a shift and the brunette is probably there anyway. The moment he walks in the door he spots her, filling up a woman’s iced tea.

All it takes is a “howdy” and then suddenly there’s a weight on his check and arms wrapped about his neck and the smell of sugary sweet something in her hair and wafting into his nose. He reciprocates, encompassing her fully and lifting her up up up. She whispers in his ear that she missed having a huckleberry like him around; he smiles at that.

“You don’t know how much I missed you.”

And then he puts her down, and she frowns. “That was _way_ too soap-opera. Tone it down a bit, Ranger Rick.”

“Not a chance.”

(A few seconds later, he realizes that Riley is also there, a strange expression gracing her face—she doesn’t look hurt, necessarily, or jealous [and he’s seen her jealous face], but just… introspective. He hugs her and she grins something strange and they all end up talking about Farkle’s current habits [Zay is staying in Texas for another week].)

.

Four months into their sophomore year, two weeks before they leave for winter break, Maya gets into a fight (she’s not a violent person, unlike him, so it comes as a shock when she shows up at his window that night with a bruised face and a busted lip).

She doesn’t explain what happens, just kicks off her snow-covered boots, climbs into his bed and tunneling into the mass of comforters that he has. He doesn’t try to get the details out of her, just pats her back and goes to get the antiseptic and a new band-aid from the bathroom, and a few minutes later, his mother gives them both some hot cocoa and a kiss on their foreheads (he didn’t tell her, but she always knows when the blonde’s there).

The next day, Zay tells him that someone had insulted Riley, and she’d gone off on the girl. He’s also a little murky on the details. Farkle doesn’t know about the fight until he mentions it, and Riley isn’t talking.

.

He wants to fix this so _badly._ The arrival of her father out of the blue jarred her, and now, she buries her face into his neck, and he winds his fingers into her hair and around her back and he just holds her.  Her frame, wracked with sobs, shakes and he tries to still it. (There’s a little voice in the back of his head that wonders why she didn’t go straight to her best friend instead of coming to him?)

He waits until her cries turn into staggered hiccups, until she pulls back and the tears stop falling, until the mascara stains on his shirt dry. And then he takes her into his lap, smooths her curls down and asks what happened.

Her words are sporadic and her voice cracks, but she tells him that her father had come to the bakery again, uninvited, and had asked if she’d like to be in his wedding.

“—with his— _hic_ —new family. The family— _hic_ —he wanted.” Her nose and cheeks and eyes are red and puffy and slick with wet, but she continues. “And it’s hard, because I, I know that it wasn’t me or my mom’s fault. I _know_ it wasn’t. But it still—it still, it still…”

“…feels that way?” Lucas finishes. She nods, and he keeps going. “Your feelings are completely valid and I can’t speak for everyone but,” and he moves his hands to cup her chin, makes her look at him, “the people who love you, who cherish you and are thankful for you—we love you because you are _you_ , because you do all the things you do, because you like peanuts but not peanut butter, because you put way too much creamer into your coffee, because you hate country songs but love to sing them. Just because he can’t see that, because he chooses not to see that, well, that’s not because of you.”

He isn’t entirely sure he got his message across until she frowns, then smiles a small little watery smile, and leans towards him, burrowing into the crook of his neck again. Against his skin she says something, but he doesn’t know what she said, just feels the vibrations her words made. And then she’s curling back into him, and he’s curling back into her.

(Later, she tells him that she’s going to the wedding, and that he needs to clear his schedule for June. He doesn’t know if he’s excited or terrified.)

.

They’re studying for finals, all laid up in Riley’s bedroom (he’s still waiting for her father to come and chase him out of the window, but he guesses he’s safe for now). Maya’s stretched across the ground, her chin resting on her textbook and an arm on her back (his arm).

Someone brings up prom, someone asks who’s going (they’re only sophomores). Zay’s not going because no one invited him, Farkle’s not going because it’s just not his thing, and Riley’s going with some upperclassman girl. Then someone (read: Zay) asks whether he or Maya are planning to attend.

Maya laughs. “No one worth going with invited me.”

(Lucas chuckles too—because he knows that Zach or Jill or Jackie or Tyrone or whoever the heck else all asked her, but that she turned them all down. He knows why and she knows why, but neither of them address it.)

Riley’s eyes narrow, and then she turns to him. “And you, Lucas?”

He shakes his head.

The blonde elbows him, fake-pouting. “ _Aw,_ poor Huckleberry, no one asked him.”

“Oh, shut up, Clutterbucket.” He stands and grabs the two popcorn buckets they’d put in the center of their little circle. “Anyone want more?” There’s a collective groan, which he takes as a yes, and as he’s going down the hallway he thinks he hears Maya call after him (he assumes that she just wants more soda).

His assumption rings true when he gets to the kitchen and she hip-checks him just as he’s getting out two more bags from an overhead cabinet. “Lone Ranger?”

“Oh, be quiet.” And then after he sets the timer on the microwave, he’s pressing himself up against her and lifting her to sit on the counter so he can kiss her without having to deal with the annoying height difference.

“Only got two minutes,” Maya teases, and he laughs.

“I can make do.”

Neither of them apparently realize that the two minutes has passed, that the beeping has become loud and annoying enough to alert Riley’s parents, because all of the sudden he gets a feeling much like when he was about to ride Tombstone, when the sword of Damocles was hanging over him, a sense of impending doom; they pull apart and then there’s a big, angry Mr. Matthews, and Lucas fears for his life.

“ _Not my other daughter!_ ”

He backs up, and the man’s pointing a finger at him (Maya’s smirking behind him), and he’s pretty sure that he’s never seen his teacher’s face that red. He’s also certain that Riley now stands on the stairs, but that doesn’t completely register until after Matthews stops chasing him out the door, down the hallway and out the front entrance of the apartment complex.

(He comes back later that night to get his stuff—his chemistry exam is _tomorrow_ —and Riley just looks at him questionably as she hands him his backpack through the bay window.)

.

When he gets to her apartment that night (yes, he’s sleeping over again and no, they’re still not sleeping together; the only difference now: she refuses to wear pants), her window’s already open. His heart skips a beat just a moment (her neighborhood isn’t anywhere near good), but then he smells paint fumes and hears some sort of indie folk-y music blaring from a speaker (and her, singing along to the words).

She doesn’t even glance over when he climbs through her window, too engrossed in what she’s doing. “What she’s doing” being painting, on her wall. Not very far along, she’s working on what looks like a patch of butter-yellow wild-flowers, with lavender and periwinkle blossoms scattered throughout.

“Are you allowed to do that?”

Her head snaps up. “Probably not.”

And then he smiles real big, he can’t help it: her hair’s piled up in a poofy ponytail, all she’s wearing is a big t-shirt (probably his), and she’s absolutely covered in paint. There’s blue flecks behind her ear, on her nose; streaks of pink running up and down her arms; she’s even got a bit of green on her ankle.  She looks utterly ridiculous.

“You’re a mess.”

“Shut up and help me paint.”

(the next time he and the gang all crash there, two months later, they’ve gotten a good quarter of the wall covered in her designs. he’s pretty sure that Riley is catching on, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that.)

.

He flies in with her and Riley and Farkle and Zay to New Jersey, where the wedding is taking place. It’s on some beach that he doesn’t really care about, because all that matters is the way her dress clings to her (it’s short and pale yellow and shows so much skin that it’s probably a rebellious statement on her part) and how so far, she’s smiling and looking at least almost-happy.

The actual wedding seems alright: it’s small, maybe thirty or forty people other than themselves; the ceremony was a little on the long side and the blonde was gripping both his and Riley’s hands more tightly than normal. The bride is nice enough—she comes to give Maya a great big hug during the reception, Kermit nowhere to be found. Maya, though, is now clearly uncomfortable. She asks the woman (Maria? Maribeth?) of her father’s location, gets pointed in the direction of the DJ.

After a few minutes of idle chatting, Maria-beth bids farewell as she goes to talk to the other guests, as Maya stands. She so obviously glances over at her best friend, who’s in deep conversation with some college student who looks just as bright and sunshine-y as Riley. So Lucas takes her hand, gets up. “I’ll go with you.”

While she looks reluctant, she still nods, pulling him closer to her as they start their way to her father. She doesn’t make him promise to not get mad at the man, and for that, he’s glad, because he’s pretty sure he couldn’t (wouldn’t) suppress any anger if it arose.

When they reach him, Kermit’s chatting with a couple of what look to be work colleagues, but he ushers the men away. His smile is warm. “Maya, it’s so nice to see you,” and then his eyes dart to Lucas’s arm, which now snakes around the blonde’s waist, palm resting on her hip. “and you are…?”

“This is Lucas,” she’s uneasy, nervous. “He’s my—”

“—one of her best friends, sir.” They haven’t officially said they were together or not (no matter what anyone thinks), and he doesn’t think now is the time to really put a label on their relationship. Stepping forward to shake the older man’s hand, he tries acts as diplomatic as he can. “Lucas Friar, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same to you. Kermit, Kermit Hart.” And, “have you guys met Marianne yet?” Maya nods, says that she was a lovely lady. “What about little Theresa?”

Her words come out slow, like maple syrup. “Theresa?”

“My other daughter, with Marianne.” Lucas guesses that her dad doesn’t seem to realize the tears that are welling at her eyes. “Your half-sister.”

Voice tight, smile forming into something false. “ _Half-sister._ ” She takes a deep breath, and Lucas feels himself do the same. “How old is she?”

“Six.”

A long stretch of silence, then—

“And you haven’t abandoned her yet?”

“Maya—”

“Or are you going to stick around a little longer. First grade? Second? Are you going to stay until she gets to middle school?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“—to leave your seven year old child behind?” Her voice breaks, and Lucas tightens his hold on her, just a little bit. “But you did.”

Her dad moves forward, as if to maybe hug her, or get to her see reason, both of them back up at the same time, same distance. When Lucas speaks, it comes out more like a growl. “I wouldn’t.”

And then they go back to their table.

(that night, Zay and Lucas and Riley and Farkle hold her as she cries)

.

Four weeks into their junior year, they break up. Or, whatever it’s called when they stop making out and he stops spending the night and they basically just avoid each other.

Zay pesters him about what happens (he was the only one who definitively knew), Farkle never caught on to their little relationship, and even Riley has asked him, says that something is really off in the group. He doesn’t tell them, because he isn’t sure either.

He remembers being at a house party that Maya had dragged him to. He remembers the warm beer in his hand, remembers how it seemed like a thousand different drinks passed through it over the course of the night. After the third or fourth (plus a few concoctions from some kid in his physics class), he stops remembering most things. A few things float around, distant and a bit murky.

But the blonde girl pressed up against some guy that isn’t him, her arms around some other guy’s neck. That sticks out to him. There’s a certain type of anger that rises up in his throat, and he so desperately wants to jump up and punch and kick or even just _approach_ them. Would that be what she’d want?

He reaches for another beer. And another, another. (Another blonde.)

(His last memory of that night revolves around him, wasted, stumbling home to an empty apartment [mother and father “sorting out their differences” in Philadelphia]. There’s also those few minutes, a little later, when Maya basically falls through his window [a twinge of concern, she was in the city intoxicated?], and her words are slurred, but it sounds like she’s saying something like “what the fuck were you doing” and he responds with “what the fuck were _you_ doing” and then they’re both out like a light, passed out on his bed before either of them can do anything else. She’s gone by the time he wakes up.)

When he gets to school the next day, albeit a bit hungover, she isn’t there. He asks Riley where she is, if she’s okay, because even when she’s hungover she still makes it to school, and he really just wants to ask her what happened last night. Riley just scrunches up her face, confused, says that hasn’t he heard, Maya is at home sick with the flu (bullshit).

Momentarily, he considers just texting her, with a message along the lines of “We need to figure this out” but he figures that if he wants anything to get done, he needs to see her.  So he skips his lunch hour (he’s allowed to go off campus anyway), hops into his truck, is about to cry for a brief amount of time due to the poor decision to try and drive _anywhere_ in Manhattan, and then, after a solid twenty minutes of fighting through traffic, makes it to her flat and climbs up her fire escape (they don’t keep an extra key lying around, because… it’s New York).

Again, when he gets to her window, it’s wide open, but it’s quiet. He’s starting to think _what if she’s actually sick_ or more likely, _is she_ that _hungover_ but then she gripes loudly, “You look like a creep. Either get your ass in here or go back to school.”

And so he does.

The now familiar paint fumes greet him, but she’s not painting anymore. Instead she’s just sitting on the stained carpet, staring at the wall, covered in various different colors, portraying various different scenes and images (from flowers to little girls with red balloons to animals to books). Purple and green rest in the crevices underneath her eyes. A few empty coffee cups lay scattered around her.

A heavy silence falls heavy on their shoulders, and just as he breaks it, just as he begins to say, “I think we should talk about what happened” she cuts him off.

“I think we should take a break.”

 He’d think she was being honest if she wasn’t biting her lip, if she wasn’t twisting that damn ring she’s worn every day since seventh grade. But she doesn’t seem to want to explain, and so he presses. “What made you make out or do whatever the hell it is you did with that guy last night?”

Her lip curls. “It doesn’t matter, it’s not like we’re a real relationship. And it’s not like you were doing that same fucking thing with that chick.”

“It’s not like you ever said that you wanted to _be_ a real relationship.”

Pause. Then: “Get the hell out of my house, Friar.”

And so he does.

He wants to fight it, wants to fight it so desperately and say that he just wants to talk through it all, but he’s pissed and has a raging headache and just really needs a nap.

That’s how it happens.

For the next few weeks, their classmates tread lightly around them; step carefully as if navigating a field of shattered glass. Their friend group, for the most part, is the same, but the dynamics are not. During lunch, Maya begs off to the art room or wherever the hell else, while Lucas either stays at the table, or goes to the library to “study”.  In class, they sit in the same spots (Maya in front, Lucas behind), but she now refuses to rest her elbow on his desk like they’ve been doing for the past four, five years (she slips up sometimes, though, and has to hastily retract it before he notices [he always notices]).

Even when Riley organizes group study sessions, one of them bails. Normally, Maya supplies the excuses so Lucas doesn’t have to. One day, in the hallway, he overhears the two girls, arguing.

“I would, Sunshine, but I’ve got a date—”

“An _actual_ date? With a boy?”

“Yes—”

“Have you already slept with him?” Something inside him stings. “Maya, what you’re doing, it isn’t good for you.”

“Riley, I’m not—”

“Condoms aren’t full proof, and I know you aren’t on birth control.”

He only catches the next bit, muffled by the ringing tardy bell, but he picks up on “Lucas” and “we weren’t like that” and “sure”. After that, he heads to class.

Over the course of the next two months, Maya’s skirts have gotten progressively shorter even as it grows colder. Her heels get higher and the color on her lips grow a darker and darker red, to the point that it becomes a deep burgundy. He knows that students other than him find her hot-sexy-beautiful but he doesn’t realize how quickly word spreads around that _Maya Hart is available_ until he sees her, pushed up against a locker way afterschool by some dude dressed in black, probably with a couple of tattoos.

He’d just gotten off of basketball practice, and he just doesn’t want to deal with her lips on another guy’s neck so he just spins back around and goes the opposite way, out of a side door, now forced to take a rather long detour to his truck.

Then, there are the rumors of the stuff she’s been doing with a multitude guys (and a couple of girls, if he’s to believe those). He feels something inside of him snarl up when he hears some asshole call her a “fucking slut”, and well, he hasn’t been squeaky clean either.

His fists, knuckles now consistently bruised, have met more noses and caused more black eyes than he ever remembers giving, even rivaling his time in Texas. There’s that first guy who set him off, calling her a name no one should be called (because even if it’s true, she shouldn’t be shamed for that), and then there’s his teammate who made the grave mistake of explicitly talking about what he wanted to do to her while Lucas was in the locker room (the douche will be out for a couple of games, but it’s not like the team will suffer), then there’s that one senior who decided that regaling his time with her, while simultaneous naming her a “dumb whore” was a good idea (Lucas was in a bad mood that day, and well, it’s a godsend that he wasn’t expelled). And then there’s the other no-names who insult her intelligence or have had entire conversations about how easy she is, and as pissed as he is at Maya for whatever the hell happened between them, he isn’t about to just leave her to the wolves. It feels a little good, every crack he hears and every smug look that melts off their face.

It’s two weeks from Christmas and just has he’s leaving one of his classes, he feels someone small pull him to the side of the hallway, away from the rush of all of the people. It takes him a few seconds to realize that Maya is the one holding onto his arm, staring at him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles. “Hello to you, too.” She repeats her question, and he brushes it off with “just shutting up some people who need to learn when to stop talking.”

Her blue eyes are glaring, her words biting. “I don’t need your help dealing with assholes, Lucas.” But then, for a single moment, a split second, her face softens. But then, in that next instant, it’s gone and she turns around and starts clip-clopping down the hall again.

.

For the first time since he started going to house (or in this case, college) parties, Lucas isn’t wasted or almost-blackout drunk or even a little buzzed. That could be accredited to the fact that he drove here (no matter what questionable things he might do, he would never), but he likes to think that it’s his own way of moving on, his way of saying that he’s in control, his way of saying _I’mnotinlovewithheranymore._

Of course, a challenge arises when he finishes a round of beer pong (he’s very good), and he moves to the kitchen to grab a can of hopefully non-spiked soda and a handful of chips. Because then he sees a little blonde sitting on a ratty ass couch, leaning into the guy next to her, laughing at all his jokes. But that guy looks familiar, and it takes Lucas just a few minutes of squinting behind a cooler to realize that it’s Josh Matthews, _Uncle Boing._ He remembers how in love she used to be with the older boy—or really, could still be, who knows.

All he knows is that Josh is _way_ too old for her—she’s barely eighteen and he’s all over her, beer in hand (senior in _college_ ), and well, Lucas doesn’t realize that the words spit out of his mouth until Maya’s face snaps up, her gaze meeting his, glaring. Josh is even looking at him, a weird sort of glint in his eyes.

“What the _hell_ , Friar?” She pushes off the couch, off of the boy-man she was sitting next to, and comes right up to his face. There’s a sharp jab in his chest and he realizes that it’s her finger, poking him so hard it starts to hurt.

He thinks he had said something about how she likes “older guys” or something stupid like that, and so he says something smart again, and then she starts pushing him back and back, until the kitchen counter jams into his spine.

There’s a malicious snarl in her top lip and he wants to smooth it away ( _fuck)._ “I can’t believe I ever thought I lo—” She cuts herself off then; it makes him laugh, a little bitterly.

“What? Do you actually think you liked me? Do you _still_ have to ask yourself that? It’s not like I—” And then he notices their position, almost completely pressed together (she’s wearing a short denim skirt and a ACDC shirt reminiscent of her middle school garb, and well, it makes him think of things that he _really_ shouldn’t think about right now).

And then Maya seems to realize how close they stand to each other, and takes two big steps back. “Fuck off, Friar.” She walks right out the door, doesn’t take Josh, doesn’t acknowledge anyone as she passes, and sure as hell doesn’t say anything else to him, doesn’t even look back at him.

He leaves once he’s sure that she’s off campus.

.

Three months after he started getting a little violent, he finally gets detention (sure, he’s gotten into trouble, but it normally gets waved off. Not today—that’s probably because it was Mr. Matthews who came to break them up).

So he goes to the history classroom afterschool (after all these years, he still has his friend’s father as his teacher, who would’ve guessed?), and the older man is already there, appearing to grade their essays from yesterday. He just points to the sign-in sheet on the corner of his desk, and Lucas obliges.

Once he’s done, he sits down at his normal seat, and just as he’s getting started on some homework out—physics is _killer_ —there’s a voice that raises goosebumps rise on his skin.

“I’m not doing this, Matthews.” Her tone is firm, but there’s a weird way that her face is set when he looks up. “First, there’s something totally screwed with the fact that the reason I’m here is for _dress code,_ and second of all, Riley put you up to this and that isn’t right.”

While he doesn’t think she should necessarily be dress-coded for what she’s wearing, he can see why a teacher (especially one who sees her as a daughter) would be against her choice of wardrobe: a skirt that _barely_ covers her ass, a halter top that shows a centimeter or so of her stomach, a sweater (probably from Riley), and heels, that while not unusual for her, tack on what looks to be another four inches. She _has_ to be cold in this New York winter.

Lucas speaks up. “Sir, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

And then Mr. Matthews starts packing up his stuff, not saying a word, except to tell Maya to sit down (which she reluctantly does, but she chooses a desk on the far side of the room). Once the man stands up, he moves towards the door, but before he leaves, he turns around, and pointedly flits his gazes between the pair. “I’m going to lock this door, and you guys are going to work out your differences. We are _all_ done with seeing you tear yourselves apart, and neither of you are getting out of here until I say so.” Then he pokes his head back into the classroom as the door closes. “And I know you both well enough to tell when you’re lying.” And then he’s gone, with the sharp _click_ of the locks turning.

.

It’s quiet for the first twenty minutes. He struggles through advanced physics, while she reads a book under her breath. It makes him smile—he remembers sitting on her bed before all of this happened, when she would try to read _Pride and Prejudice,_ but would just end up saying the words in some weird exotic accent that he would laugh at.

So he asks, “What are you reading?” and to his surprise, she responds: _A Farewell to Arms._

“My independent choice for English.”

“I’ve heard it’s pretty good,” he says, daring a glance over to her.

She’s still got her eyes glued to the page. “I don’t hate it.”

They sit like that for a few more moments, her reading (now silent), and him, just looking her (he can’t help it). It might be a little creepy, but it’s all he can bring himself to do. And she seems to feel his stare, telling him to “stop.”

He apologizes, and sincerely tries to focus on his homework, but then he listens to her quiet lilt as she reads. _“That was what you did. You died.”_ There’s a hitch in her breath,it’s so short and quick that he thinks he imagines it, but it’s there. Definitely there. “ _You did not know what it was about. They threw you in and told you the rules and the first time they caught you off base they killed you. Or they killed you gratuitously like Aymo. Or gave you the syphilis like Rinaldi. But they killed you in the end. You could count on that. Stay around and they would kill you.”_

“That’s cheerful.” Lucas surprises himself by speaking. In return, she quirks an eyebrow. “What is it about?”

She sighs, but explains that an ambulance soldier falls in love with a nurse during World War I, and that “it’s messy and complicated and from what I’ve read so far, it’s going to end badly.”

“Why? Why does it have to end badly?”

“Lucas, life is bad. Life is bad, and you don’t get one good thing and a bunch of other little good things, there’s just mainly bad things.” Her eyes are downcast at this point. “Life is a sad story, and we’re all just a part of it.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all; they sit for a few more minutes in complete silence. Then, that itch of a question that has been at the back of his mind presses again, and so he has to ask, “Why have you been going out with so many guys?”

“Why have you been getting in so many fights?” She shoots back, and then exhales slowly, entirely resigned. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just… been a good way to forget, you know?”

“Forget what?”

“You.”

Something catches in his throat in response to her straight-forward answer, and he thinks that maybe he was doing the same thing she was doing with lips and kisses that he was with fists and punches, but there’s still another thing, “Why did you push me away in the first place?”

She shakes her head, she doesn’t know that either, but then she mutters something underneath her breath and with his prodding, she says it a little louder. “I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“You. Me. Riley.” She pauses. “The future.” Deep inhale. “You know, I haven’t even told Riley _anything_ about us, and I always tell her everything. I didn’t tell her about the campfire, I didn’t tell her about New Years, I haven’t even told her that I love you. I’ve been the worst best friend a girl could ever—”

He stops her. “What did you say?”

She looks up at him then, her eyes ringed by smudged mascara and eyeliner, her lips now devoid of any color, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. For those who do not know Maya Hart would think that this is just another tired teen, but he can see the vulnerability she offers to him, a small piece of herself.

.

A quick text to his mom, telling her that he’s at Zay’s again ( _momma: you haven’t been there in a while_ ), and he’s climbing up that rickety fire-escape. The window is shut tight, but he’s able to finangle the lock (yes, he remembers who to do that still) to get it to pop, and then he slides through the now open space. Her room, softly lit, is messy and much more hectic than the last time he was there.

 She’s sitting on top of her comforter, back against the headboard, wrapped in her patch-work blanket her grandmother had given her. A book lays in her hands, and Maya doesn’t seem to notice him, but she starts speaking, softly. Lucas moves to the foot of her bed. “ _But we were never lonely and never afraid when we were together. I know that the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started. But with Catherine there was almost no difference in the night except that it was an even better time.”_ The next words fall out of her mouth, slow and steady, like maple syrup in the early morning or the gentle current of a quiet brook. “ _If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry._ ”

Her gaze flit to his then, a small smile spreading across her face. It’s tentative, but sure.

“Is that still Hemingway?“

She nods. “I’m sorry for being a bitch, and I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

“That’s okay—”

“No, it isn’t. I told Riley.” And then her eyebrows furrow, firm, and Lucas scoots back to be next to her, the sides of their bodies warm against one another. He turns to look at her more fully, and opens his mouth to say something, but she beats him to it. “I love you.”

 He doesn’t know what to say, except that he loves her too, and he presses his lips to her forehead and they both sigh, a soft soft exhalation of breath and he wraps an arm around her frame and she leans into him. They have more than enough that they need to talk about, but for right now, it is the night and it is a better time.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me at dmigod on tumblr.


End file.
